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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27985419">Making History</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PipMer/pseuds/PipMer'>PipMer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Community: holmestice, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, He is not Victor Trevor from canon, Humor, Mike is a good friend, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash, Slightly Canon-Divergent, Victor Trevor is an Original Character, mike is devious</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:29:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,164</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27985419</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PipMer/pseuds/PipMer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson wasn’t the first potential flatmate that Mike Stamford introduced to Sherlock Holmes. He would, however, be the last.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes &amp; John Watson, Sherlock Holmes &amp; Mike Stamford</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Holmestice Exchange - Winter 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Making History</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriteOut/gifts">thetimemoves (WriteOut)</a>.</li>

        <li>
          Translation into Русский available: 
            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29061915">Творим историю</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Unicorn/pseuds/Little_Unicorn">Little_Unicorn</a>
        </li>


    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I hope you like this little treat, Writeout! I know that you enjoy Mike as a character, and when I saw you mentioned him in some of your prompts I latched right on! This is the prompt I chose: "When Sherlock told Stamford he must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for, who were the pre-John prospects?" I hope this suits!</p><p>Many thanks to my tremendous beta, rachelindeed!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <em> “I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Yeah, mate. You really, really are.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It had started out above board and with the best of intentions. Sherlock Holmes, that eccentric young man who frequented the mortuary and its attached laboratory, was in the market for a new flat and hence, a flatmate. Mike didn’t know him terribly well, but well enough to get a feel for what he was like. Mike prided himself on being not just a good judge of character, but a <em> phenomenal </em>one. He knew how to read personality and temperament, and he had an uncanny sixth sense about who would get along and who would end up scratching each other’s eyes out. Even Sherlock, that bastion of rigid rationality, had commented on this talent with a grudging sense of respect. So it didn’t surprise Mike when Sherlock asked him to scout out potential prospects.</p><p>“Now mind that I’m not looking for any kind of long-term arrangement. I just need someone to help pay the rent for a few months until I can afford it on my own. I’m not concerned with either age or gender. Or sexuality. Just make it clear that I consider myself married to my work, and I don’t cheat.”</p><p>Mike raised an eyebrow, amused. “Right. I’ll see what I can do.”</p><p> </p><p>The first prospect he had in mind was offered up in good faith. He knew of a guest lecturer who had been hired on to Barts staff on a temporary basis; the man was from Australia and would only be in London for six months. Mike had been on the panel that hired him, and from all appearances it seemed like it would be a good fit. For a temporary arrangement, at least. If the two of them ended up not getting along, no major damage would be done.</p><p>Then he introduced them, and his mistake was obvious from the start.</p><p>“Sherlock, I’d like you to meet Doctor Victor Trevor. He’s the one I was telling you about -- ”</p><p>“My goodness, aren’t you a tall, refreshing drink of water,” Victor purred as he held out his hand. He was of a height with Sherlock, perhaps a bit taller. His piercing green eyes raked the entire length of Sherlock’s body shamelessly, a smirk playing around his lips. He sported close-cropped ginger hair, reminiscent of Prince Harry, and a matching beard. An indisputably attractive bloke, Mike thought. Who was, quite obviously, barking up the wrong tree.</p><p>Sherlock looked over, frowning. He was painstakingly adding liquid from a burette to an Erlenmeyer flask, slowly transforming a clear solution into a bright pink one. He ignored the outstretched hand and turned his attention back to his experiment. </p><p>“Mike must not have informed you about the conditions of our cohabitation. For one, I’m not interested in any romantic entanglements. And for another, I don’t associate with active drug users. It’s not good for my sobriety, you understand.” Sherlock gave Victor a grin reminiscent of the Grinch, all teeth and no humour.</p><p>Victor snatched his hand back and threw Mike a horrified look. “I - What - Doctor Stamford, I <em> assure </em>you that nothing untoward - ”</p><p>“Just illegal,” Sherlock said.</p><p>Victor whipped his head around and glared. “Listen, you  - ”</p><p>“All right,” Mike interjected, “apparently the flatmate interview is over. Sorry to waste your time, Sherlock.”</p><p>Sherlock sighed, eyes never leaving the flask. “I expected better from you, Mike. I really did.”</p><p>“Yes well,” Mike cleared his throat, “win some, you lose some.” He grabbed Victor by the elbow and led him away, hissing, “And you and I are going to my office to re-evaluate your employment, <em> now.” </em></p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>A mischievous thought flared to life in the back of his mind. He didn’t give it much serious attention, just sort of poked and prodded at it whenever he had a free moment. At the same time, he halfheartedly continued to keep an eye and ear out for potential flatmates for Sherlock. </p><p>The detective was a <em> unique </em> individual, who apparently had a low tolerance for most of humanity, so maybe it had been a lost cause right from the start.</p><p>Although, now that he thought about it, he <em> did </em> know someone who <em> might </em> fit the bill. The young man - boy, really, he couldn’t be more than nineteen - had come to him just that morning, asking how one went about finding affordable accommodations in the heart of London. Aaron was a student of his, and from what Mike could tell so far, he was very bright, verging on brilliant. Sherlock <em> did </em>say that age wasn’t a factor, so maybe it could work? Assuming that someone that young could afford a flatshare in London. </p><p>Well, it wouldn’t hurt to run it by Sherlock anyway. He’d already embarrassed himself by misjudging the situation with Doctor Trevor so badly. Then again, he had never claimed to be as perceptive as Sherlock Holmes. </p><p>So, half as a lark and half in good faith, Mike introduced Sherlock to Aaron Smith. </p><p>He arranged for them to meet over coffee at Angelo’s. Neutral territory. A public venue. Less of a chance for any kind of dramatic shenanigans. Right?<br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p>“My IQ was measured at 180. What’s yours? Did you know that I’m only 19 years old, and I’ve already got 2 patents? That’s how I can afford a flatshare in London, you know; because of them my inventions netted me over 500,000 pounds. I mean, it’s not <em> unlimited </em>funds I’ll grant you, but it’ll hold me for awhile, yeah? So what degrees do you hold? You’re almost 30, you must be quite accomplished. I’ve already got one degree from Oxford, my Barts courses are just for backup…”</p><p>Mike hunched down lower in his seat, eyes frantically flipping from one man to the other. Aaron was the only one talking, but Mike wanted to track Sherlock’s reactions in real time. Sherlock’s face just kept getting more and more thunderous. And redder by the second. </p><p>Aaron’s hands gesticulated as he spoke, grazing Mike’s face more than once. Aaron never faltered, not even for an offhand apology. His intelligence quotient possibly <em> was </em>quite a bit higher than Sherlock’s, but his maturity level was in the basement compared to Sherlock’s ground floor. Sherlock’s eyes narrowed and his fists clenched. His coffee sat untouched in front of him. </p><p>“I heard that you’re a <em> detective. </em> Doesn’t that mean you have to work with the <em> police? </em> How demeaning, am I right? At least if all those shows on telly have the right of it… Speaking of which, have you ever been to <em> America?” </em></p><p>Mike snorted. His hand flew to his mouth when Sherlock shot him a dirty look. Mike just shrugged, grinning from ear to ear. This was <em> fun. </em>He should have arranged a bet with Molly to see how long it took before Sherlock --</p><p>“Enough!” Sherlock roared. He reared to his feet, and jabbed a finger at Aaron. “There’s no way in <em>hell </em>that I’m sharing a flat with a pipsqueak like you.” Mike’s eyes widened. “I can smell <em>trust fund </em>from a mile away. I’ll grant that you’re intelligent enough to have patented two inventions already, but it wasn’t for the money, was it? No, you’re <em>bored, </em>you need the thrill and the challenge. Everything’s just been <em>handed </em>to you - “</p><p>Mike found himself standing up and raising a placating hand. “All right, all right. Gentlemen, please, calm down. Before we get ourselves thrown out of here.”</p><p>Sherlock glared at Aaron. He threw some money down on the table and shoved his arms into his coat. “No need, I just remembered an important experiment that I left running. I can’t say it’s a pleasure, Aaron. Mike, until next time.” With that, the long legged detective swept out of the restaurant.</p><p>Aaron looked at Mike. “He forgot to tell me when I could move in.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Mike heard from a mutual acquaintance that his old friend John Watson was back in town from Afghanistan. Bill Murray informed him that John was having a bit of a hard time adjusting back to civilian life, and could maybe Mike reach out to him? </p><p>Mike said sure, but he had no way of contacting him. Bill told him that John had his own blog now, and he gave him the URL in case he wanted to get in touch through that. Mike accepted the information with no real intention of actually following through.</p><p>Then one day Mike found himself at loose ends for the day, so he took a rare amble through the park. He sat on a bench with his coffee, surveying the multitude around him. In the distance he caught sight of a familiar looking bloke, cane in hand. He held himself just so, walking with a confident gait despite the limp. The closer he came, the more familiar he looked. He walked right on past Mike with nary a glance or a word. </p><p>Mike would know that profile and that face anywhere. It was John Watson, apparently invalided out of service. Murray hadn’t mentioned anything about an injury. Discreetly, Mike followed him to the tiny bedsit that he must call home. If he was still recovering from his wounds, he most likely was living solely on his army pension. And trying to live in London while doing so.</p><p>Mike smiled. He could already envision it in his head. That mischievous imp of an idea from earlier had just found the substrate it needed to take root and germinate into something real.   </p><p>Mike made a plan.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He admitted that the next contender was just silly, but it would serve his purpose quite nicely of wearing Sherlock Holmes down to the point where he would be receptive to the real thing. It was proving to be quite the challenge. Mike decided he would spring this one on him without warning and enjoy the results. His partner in crime was the wife of his favourite aunt, in town from Edinburgh for a week and looking for an adventure. She and Mike had always got on like a house on fire, and she was a willing and eager accomplice.</p><p>Sherlock looked up as Mike and his companion approached. Barts canteen was blessedly empty at 3 o’clock in the afternoon, just the right sort of ambience for a solitary detective to grab a rare meal. Mike inwardly smirked; if this were a genuine offer, Sherlock would have been fed up and filled out in no time with Aunt Gertie’s hearty offerings. But that wasn’t really the purpose of this visit.</p><p>“Sherlock! Didn’t expect to see you here, actually eating.”</p><p>Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Even I have to eat at some point, Mike.”</p><p>“True. Oh! And what a happy coincidence! Sherlock, this is my neighbour, Gertie Hunter.” His elderly companion inclined her head and gave Sherlock a grandmotherly smile. She tugged her red crocheted shawl tighter around her shoulders and adjusted her matching cat-eye glasses. Her blue eyes twinkled merrily.</p><p>Mike continued, “She’s been recently widowed, and currently at loose ends. Her house was too big for just her, of course, and she’s looking for smaller accommodations. Also a bit of companionship wouldn’t go amiss. She misses Paul <em> dreadfully. </em> They were never blessed with a family, so I’m sure she’d appreciate somebody on which to lavish her maternal attentions. <em> ” </em></p><p>The soft, almost-fond look that Sherlock had been giving her immediately morphed into something that could be described as <em> stricken. </em></p><p>“Mike, I really don’t think - “</p><p>“I think the two of you should have a little chat while I make myself scarce. We’ve already had our lunch, so no worries about that.” He patted his companion’s shoulder and gave her an encouraging smile. </p><p>“Why don’t you have a seat, dear, and I’ll come collect you after my lecture. Shouldn’t be much more than an hour. Afterwards we’ll go have some drinkies, does that sound nice?”</p><p>“Of <em> course </em> , Mikey, don’t give me a second thought.” She gazed at Sherlock, and her eyes filled. She blinked the moisture away as she collected herself. “You remind me <em> so much </em>of my dearly departed husband. You’re the spitting image of him when he was your age.” She took the seat across from him and reached out to press his hand. She looked up at Mike with a watery smile.</p><p>“You go on ahead, dear. I think this one and I have a lot to talk about.” </p><p>He had to hand it to Aunt Gertie; she had the performance of a dotty old lady down pat, when in reality she was a distinguished professor emeritus at a prestigious university.</p><p>Mike turned away, but not before seeing the pleading look Sherlock threw his way. One might even say <em> panicked </em>look. He winked, gave a little wave, and left them to it for the next little while.</p><p>Was he a terrible person for having so much fun with this? Mike chuckled to himself as he walked away. In a normally mundane existence, one had to do what one could to keep oneself entertained. Otherwise, what was life for?</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Mike let some time pass before he approached Sherlock again. It was a fine line to walk, this scheming lark.</p><p>“Sherlock, still looking for a flatmate?”</p><p>Sherlock sighed. “Yes.”</p><p>“Good. Look, my brother-in-law is going through a rough patch right now. He and his wife are separating - again - but they’re trying to work it out. In the meantime, he needs a place to stay. Just temporary, like you said.”</p><p>“I take it he has a steady job?”</p><p>“The steadiest.”</p><p>“No criminal record?”</p><p>Mike smiled. “Nope.”</p><p>“Not dealing with a sexual identity crisis?”</p><p>“Not at all.”</p><p>“Fine. Set up a meeting.”</p><p> </p><p>The pub was classy enough to meet Sherlock’s standards - quiet and subdued, tucked in an out-of-the-way street just off of Marylebone - and yet down to earth with a selection of ales and beers that Mike knew appealed to his brother-in-law’s tastes. Mike and Sherlock were tucked in a corner booth, both nursing their drinks in silence. Sherlock was staring out the window, clearly lost in thought. There was a tiny hint of melancholy about him, which almost made Mike rethink the whole endeavour. He didn’t want to unknowingly add to any stress that Sherlock might be dealing with -- </p><p>“There you are! Almost didn’t see you with the low lighting in here. Sherlock! What are <em> you </em>doing here? This is the last place I’d expect to find you.”</p><p>Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade plopped down next to Mike, beer in hand.</p><p>Sherlock stared. Then he blinked. And blinked again. He looked at Mike. He pointed at Greg.</p><p>“<em>Lestrade </em> is your brother-in-law?”</p><p>“Yep.” Mike took a sip of his drink, eyeing them both. “My wife’s brother. You two know each other?”</p><p>Greg almost choked on his beer. He gave Mike an incredulous look.  “Know? He’s the bloke I told you about, the one we’ve been using on cases? I know I told you about him.”</p><p>Mike shrugged. “Could have.” He pointed to his temple. “Memory like a sieve. Sorry.”</p><p>Sherlock huffed. “A <em> policeman? </em> You thought that pairing me with a <em> policeman </em>would be a good idea?”</p><p>“Well, why not? He has a steady job. No criminal record. He’s mature and settled, so he won’t be having any wild parties at your flat.”</p><p>“Oi!” Greg objected. “Just who are you calling mature?”</p><p>Mike ignored him. “He’s laid-back, easy to get along with. Not a slob, according to my wife. What’s not to like?”</p><p>Greg stared at him. “Would you like me to make a list? For one thing, we’re basically work colleagues.”</p><p>Sherlock scoffed. “I am <em> not </em>your colleague.” He turned to Mike and continued.</p><p>“Lestrade and I have a <em> history. </em>He knows… far too much about me and could hold it against me.”</p><p>Greg sputtered, “<em> I </em> know too much about <em> you? </em>You deduced everything about me the day we met!”</p><p>Sherlock continued, “Plus, <em> I’m </em>the one with the less-than-savoury past. Living with a detective would just….” Sherlock waved his hand, at a rare loss for words.</p><p>“Exacerbate things?” Greg interjected. “Give me far too easy access to all of your secret comings and goings, not to mention your secret stashes? Give me cause to rethink just <em> why </em>I continue calling you in on cases?”</p><p>“<em>God, </em> he would treat me like a <em> child! </em>Making me pick up after myself, insisting that I actually get dressed even on days I don’t leave the flat -- “</p><p>“Wake me at 3 in the morning with his screeching violin when I have to be at work the next morning, set my shirts on fire in the name of <em> science </em> -- “</p><p>“All right, all right,” Mike laughed, tickled pink by his companions’ antics. He held up both hands. “Mea culpa, apologies all around for wasting everyone’s time.”</p><p>“Well, not a waste of time for <em> me. </em>I always like an excuse to enjoy a pint,” Greg said. </p><p>Mike grinned at him. “Look, you can always kip in our basement for the time being. As you know, it’s pretty self-contained; has a small kitchenette area and everything.”</p><p>“I was actually hoping you’d offer. I never really wanted to relive the whole flatshare experience again, not at my age.”</p><p>“Thank god,” Sherlock muttered. </p><p>Greg gave him a look. “Oi, mate, you’re the one looking for a flatmate.”</p><p>“I have standards.”</p><p>“Thanks for that.”  </p><p>“You’re quite welcome.”</p><p>Mike settled in for the show, grinning the whole while.</p><p> </p><p>+++</p><p> </p><p>After Greg left two hours later, Sherlock’s shoulders slumped and he fixed Mike with a mournful look. </p><p>“I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for.”</p><p>Mike chuckled. “Yeah, mate. You really, really are.”</p><p>Sherlock groaned. He leaned forward and placed his head in his hands. He mumbled through his fingers, “I need to find someone soon, Mike. It’s become a matter of urgency.” He straightened up and ruffled his hair. “I found the <em> perfect </em> flat, the landlady is giving me a discount on the rent, but I still can’t afford it on my own. She’s not going to hold it for me forever. And I <em> don’t </em>want to go to Mycroft for help.”</p><p>Mike grimaced. He couldn’t blame Sherlock one bit for that; his older brother could be a right pain in the neck, not to mention a controlling arsehole. </p><p>“I hear ya, Sherlock. I do have one more possibility. Might be a longshot, but I’ll see where it leads. I’ll check it out and get back with you.”</p><p>“Okay,” Sherlock said, mood darkening. It almost seemed as if he were resigning himself to his fate. “I won’t hold my breath, but thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>That afternoon, Mike ran into John Watson ‘accidentally’ in the same park he had seen him on previous occasions, always on the same day of the week. Which also happened to be this particular day. On his way back from his weekly therapy session.</p><p>This time, Mike actually spoke to him. And invited him to come along and meet a potential flatmate.</p><p> </p><p>The rest, as they say, is history.</p><p><br/>
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